Abigail’s body shivered once. It shivered again. Silas opened his mouth and let out a guttural sound like a man who had eaten hot iron—one of the torches exploded—and out of the corners of her eyes Gideon saw him stretch out his arms. Gideon moved thickly through the grey-lipped crowd, watching Dulcinea collapse in what felt like slow motion, reaching out to the rumpled figure in the big dressing gown. Gideon slung Dulcinea’s arm over her shoulder and pulled her limp body upright, teeth chattering so hard she was worried about biting the insides of her cheeks. Protesilaus stalked forward, and he did not even bother to draw his sword: he simply punched Silas in the face.
Dulcinea wailed out from Gideon’s arms, weak and shrilclass="underline" “Pro!” but it was too late. The Eighth necromancer went down like a sack of dropped potatoes and twitched on the floor. Now Protesilaus drew his rapier with an oily click of metal on scabbard: the lights crackled, then blazed back to life. The cold receded as though someone had closed a door against a howling wind. Strangely enough, Colum the Eighth did not even react. He just waited greyly next to Protesilaus like concrete, as Protesilaus stood over Colum’s floored uncle, sword held at the ready. They both looked like crude sculptures of men.
“Children!” cried a voice high from the hatch: “Children, stop!”
It was Teacher. He had descended the first few staples of the ladder, but this was all he could apparently bear. For the first time since Gideon had met him, he seemed real and old and fraiclass="underline" the serene and frankly impenetrable good cheer had been replaced by wild terror. His eyes were bulging, and he was huddled against the top of the ladder like it was a life raft. “You mustn’t!” he said. “He cannot empty anybody here, lest they become a nest for something else! Bring Abigail and Magnus the Fifth upstairs—do it quickly—”
Palamedes said, “Teacher, we should leave the bodies where they are if we want to know anything about what happened.”
“I dare not,” he called back. “And I daren’t come down there to remove them. You must bring them up. Use stretchers—or magic, Reverend Daughter, use skeletons—use anything. But you must get them out of there immediately, and come up with them.”
Maybe they were all still slothful from what had just gone on; maybe it was just the fact that it was the very small hours of the morning, and they were all very tired. The numb hesitation was palpable. It was a surprise when Camilla raised her voice to say: “Teacher. This is an active investigation. We’re safe down here.”
“You are absolutely wrong,” said Teacher. “Poor Abigail and Magnus are dead already. I cannot guarantee the safety of any of you who remain down there another minute.”
Chapter 18
“Bring them up” was easier said than done. It took nearly an hour to remove the bodies and to store them safely—there was a freezer room, and Palamedes reluctantly allowed them to be interred there—and to get the Houses up and crowded into the dining hall. Harrowhark’s skeletons could climb a ladder, even bearing wrapped corpses, but Colum the Eighth did not respond to pleas, threats, or physical stimulus. He was slightly less grey than previous, but he had to be hauled up bodily by Corona and Gideon. The moment he saw Colum, Teacher cried out in horror. Getting him up had been the hardest part. He now rested at the end of the table with a bowl of unidentifiable herbs burning under his chin, the smoke curling around his face and eyelashes. Currently everyone not stretched out on the floor of the dining room, lying in state in the freezer room, or huffing herbs was sitting around miserably clutching cups of tea. It was weirdly like their first day in Canaan House, in both suspicion and dullness, just with a bigger body count.
The only ones who seemed even vaguely compos mentis were the Second House. As it turned out, they had been the ones to call Teacher to the access hatch, and now they sat ramrod-straight and resplendent in their Second-styled Cohort uniforms, all scarlet and white. They both affected the same tightly braided hairstyle and abundance of gilt braid, and also the same serious-business expression. They were only distinct because one wore a rapier and the other quite a lot of pips at her collar. Teacher sat a little way away from them, his naked fear replaced by a deep and weary sadness. He sat close to the wheezy little heater taking off the morning chill, and the other two Canaan House priests shrouded themselves in their robes and refilled everybody’s cups.
The necromancer of the Second House cleared her throat.
“Teacher,” she said, in a cultured and resonant voice, “I would like to repeat that the best course of action is to inform the Cohort and bring military enforcers.”
“I will repeat, Captain Deuteros,” he said sadly, “that we cannot. It is the sacred rule.”
“You must understand that this is nonnegotiable. The Fifth House must be informed. They of all houses would want an investigation carried out immediately.”
“A murder investigation,” added Jeannemary, who had not touched her tea.
“Murder,” said Teacher, “oh, murder … we cannot assume that it was murder.”
Whispers began to cross the room. The Second cavalier said, rather more heatedly: “Are you suggesting that it was an accident?”
“I would be very surprised if it were, Lieutenant Dyas,” said Teacher. “Not Magnus and Lady Abigail. A seasoned necromancer and her cavalier, and sensible adults in their own right. I do not think it was an unhappy misadventure. I think they were killed.”
“Then—”
“Murder is done by the living,” said Teacher. “They were found entering the facility … I cannot begin to explain how grave a threat that is to anyone’s safety. I will not bother trying to keep it secret now. I told each of you who asked my permission to enter that place that it would mean your death. I did not say that figuratively. I told all of you that you were walking into the most dangerous place in the system of Dominicus, and I meant it. There are monsters here.”
Naberius said, “So why aren’t they coming for you? You’ve lived here years.”
Teacher said, “Years and years … and years. They are not coming for the guardians of Canaan House … yet. But I live in fear of the day they do. I believe Abigail and Magnus have run tragically afoul of them … I cannot countenance the idea that whatever grief they came to was orchestrated by someone in this room.”
Silence rippled outward to the four corners of the dining hall. Captain Deuteros broke it by saying repressively: “This is still a case for the proper authorities.”
Teacher said, “I cannot and will not call them. Lines of communication off-planet are forbidden here. For pity’s sake, Captain Deuteros, where is the motive? Who would harm the Fifth House? A good man and a good woman.”
The necromancer steepled her gloved fingers together and leaned forward. “I cannot speculate about motive or intent,” she said. “I hardly want it to be murder. But if you don’t comply with me, I have reasonable grounds to stop this trial. I will take command if you cannot.”
Someone thumped their tea mug down on the table, hard. It was Coronabeth, who even with her violet eyes full of sleep and her hair in burnished tangles around her face would still have caused tourist traffic to wherever she was standing. “Don’t be silly, Judith,” she said impatiently. “You don’t have that kind of authority.”
“Where no other authority exists to ensure the safety of a House, the Cohort is authorized to take command—”